


such a luxury of stars would embarrass me, the few I am used to are plain and durable

by wcdewilsonn (oceanboys)



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015)
Genre: Angst, Character Study, Childhood Memories, Flashbacks, Gen, Heavy Angst, Memories, Minor Character Death, Poe's torture scene, Psychological Torture, Torture, slight finn/poe if you squint but it's not the main focus, this was more of my take of the torture scene tbh
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-28
Updated: 2016-02-28
Packaged: 2018-05-23 17:34:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,580
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6124642
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/oceanboys/pseuds/wcdewilsonn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He is four, and his feet sink into the soft grass on Yavin IV as he runs across the ground to jump into his mother’s arms, squealing with pleasure as she throws him and catches him again, swinging him in her arms. Poe’s father appears from the doorway of their home, and Shara smiles brightly, all teeth and gums and pure unabashed joy, and the memory feels so sweet and warm and right, that Poe doesn’t want it to go, kriff please just leave it alone, please don’t please – </p><p>“You will tell me where the droid is,” says the smooth voice. Poe shakes his head, breathless, tears running down his face.</p><p>----</p><p>Wherein Poe is captured by the First Order and Kylo Ren eventually gets the information he is looking for, but not before tearing apart Poe's mind.</p>
            </blockquote>





	such a luxury of stars would embarrass me, the few I am used to are plain and durable

**Author's Note:**

> Hello my friends!! Gods, I haven't posted on here for a looooong time. Sorry about that. I will finish the fanfics I said I was going to, and I def will add more stuff to the The 80s 'Verse, but I've lost most of my love for the Supernatural fandom. Awkwaaard.
> 
> Buuuut good news! I'm now 100% invested into the Star Wars fandom again (new movies releases will do that to ya), and I am officially certified Poe Dameron Trash™, so there will be a fuck-load of Poe and Star Wars fanfiction comin' your way. (No reylo though, because FUCK reylo). THIS IS NOT BETA READ. So any mistakes are mine, and I wrote this @ 11pm so there's probably some mistakes and grammatical errors.
> 
> This is based off Sylvia Plath's poem, Stars Over the Dordogne, which is quickly becoming one of my faves. You should totes read it because it is not only a beautiful fucking poem, it's also something I can connect Poe to. Or Rey. Or Finn. Literally all of them it's a Star Wars poem okay?
> 
> I'd really appreciate Kudos and comments, doesn't have to be constructive, just a 'lil something to let me know you enjoyed it ;)

_“Where I am at home, only the sparsest stars_

_Arrive at twilight, and then after some effort._

_And they are wan, dulled by much travelling._

_The smaller and more timid never arrive at all_

_But stay, sitting far out, in their own dust.”_

_\- Sylvia Plath, Stars Over the Dordogne_

 

 

★ ° . . . ☾ °☆ . * ● ¸ . ★ . • ○ ° ★ . * . . ° . ● . ° ☾ °☆ ¸. ● . ★ ★ ° ☾ ☆ ¸. ¸ ★ :. . • ○ ° ★ . * . . ¸ . ° ¸. * ● ¸ . ° ☾ ° ¸. ● ¸ . ★ ° :. . • ° . * :. . ¸ . ● ¸ ★ ★☾ °★ . . °☆ . ● ¸ . ★ ° . • ○ ° ★ . * . ☾ ° ¸. * ● ¸ ° ☾ °☆ . * ¸. ★  
★ ° . . . ☾ °☆ . * ● ¸ . ★ ° :. . • ○ ° ★ . * . . ° . ● . ° ☾ °☆ ¸. ● . ★ ★ ° ☾ ☆ ¸. ¸ ★ :. . • ○ ° ★ . * . . ¸ . ° ¸. * ● ¸ . ° ☾ ° ¸. ● ¸ . ★ ° :. . • °

 

He is four, and his feet sink into the soft grass on Yavin IV as he runs across the ground to jump into his mother’s arms, squealing with pleasure as she throws him and catches him again, swinging him in her arms. Poe’s father appears from the doorway of their home, and Shara smiles brightly, all teeth and gums and _pure unabashed joy_ , and the memory feels so sweet and warm and _right_ , that Poe doesn’t want it to go, _kriff_ please just leave it alone, _please don’t please –_

The memory shatters beneath Ren’s hand, and Poe screams in agony. The last shred of the memory he sees is his mother’s smile, frozen in time, and then black.

“You _will_ tell me where the droid is,” says the smooth voice. Poe shakes his head, breathless, tears running down his face.

“The resistance will not be intimidated by you,” he hisses out.

Ren is motionless, and then –

“Very well, if you won’t make this easy…”

Poe swears he hears the smile in Ren’s voice, the glee at being able to inflict more pain.

 

★ ° . . . ☾ °☆ . * ● ¸ . ★ . • ○ ° ★ . * . . ° . ● . ° ☾ °☆ ¸. ● . ★ ★ ° ☾ ☆ ¸. ¸ ★ :. . • ○ ° ★ . * . . ¸ . ° ¸. * ● ¸ . ° ☾ ° ¸. ● ¸ . ★ ° :. . • ° . * :. . ¸ . ● ¸ ★ ★☾ °★ . . °☆ . ● ¸ . ★ ° . • ○ ° ★ . * . ☾ ° ¸. * ● ¸ ° ☾ °☆ . * ¸. ★  
★ ° . . . ☾ °☆ . * ● ¸ . ★ ° :. . • ○ ° ★ . * . . ° . ● . ° ☾ °☆ ¸. ● . ★ ★ ° ☾ ☆ ¸. ¸ ★ :. . • ○ ° ★ . * . . ¸ . ° ¸. * ● ¸ . ° ☾ ° ¸. ● ¸ . ★ ° :. . • °

 

He’s six, and Shara has taken him to Naboo to see the parades they host in the spring. Poe’s wide eyes observe everything – take in every colour, every feeling, every sound and smell and individual. Luxurious garments are being shown off in street stalls, food handed out without charge, and pinky-white flowers are given to all in the busy streets. A young Naboo woman hands Shara and Poe a flower each, and brushes the back of her hand on Poe’s cheek, a warm gesture that has Poe giggling.

Ease and childlike excitement fill the memory, and then it cracks, black oozing into every corner of the picture. The woman’s face wavers, and is consumed by the blackness.

 **“Tell me!”** comes the roar of Ren’s voice.

Poe grits his teeth, another memory lost.

“That’s all you got?”

 

★ ° . . . ☾ °☆ . * ● ¸ . ★ . • ○ ° ★ . * . . ° . ● . ° ☾ °☆ ¸. ● . ★ ★ ° ☾ ☆ ¸. ¸ ★ :. . • ○ ° ★ . * . . ¸ . ° ¸. * ● ¸ . ° ☾ ° ¸. ● ¸ . ★ ° :. . • ° . * :. . ¸ . ● ¸ ★ ★☾ °★ . . °☆ . ● ¸ . ★ ° . • ○ ° ★ . * . ☾ ° ¸. * ● ¸ ° ☾ °☆ . * ¸. ★  
★ ° . . . ☾ °☆ . * ● ¸ . ★ ° :. . • ○ ° ★ . * . . ° . ● . ° ☾ °☆ ¸. ● . ★ ★ ° ☾ ☆ ¸. ¸ ★ :. . • ○ ° ★ . * . . ¸ . ° ¸. * ● ¸ . ° ☾ ° ¸. ● ¸ . ★ ° :. . • °

 

Twenty-five. He is rolling his X-Wing out of the way of several well-aimed shots. Grinning, he dives down towards the First Order Star-Destroyer, still spinning, until –

He pulls up just in time to miss crashing into the hull of the ship, whooping as two of the TIE fighters on his tail aren’t as lucky, and crash against the ship. His hands dance across the controls as he weaves in and out of debris, rock, and asteroids, trying to lose the other three TIE fighters and shoot down some of the others attacking his fellow squad.

He’s still grinning when he and most of his squadron fly away from the battle, leaving a smouldering Star Destroyer behind. He tastes victory and glory not for the first time, but certainly one of the more self-defining times, and decides then and there that we will fight tooth and nail for the Resistance; prepared to give up his life for the right cause.

 

This time, he can feel the turmoil from Ren when this memory is ruined. He wonders whether there is something _other_ about the man, but quickly forgets it when a new wave of pain and dominance hits him.

 

★ ° . . . ☾ °☆ . * ● ¸ . ★ . • ○ ° ★ . * . . ° . ● . ° ☾ °☆ ¸. ● . ★ ★ ° ☾ ☆ ¸. ¸ ★ :. . • ○ ° ★ . * . . ¸ . ° ¸. * ● ¸ . ° ☾ ° ¸. ● ¸ . ★ ° :. . • ° . * :. . ¸ . ● ¸ ★ ★☾ °★ . . °☆ . ● ¸ . ★ ° . • ○ ° ★ . * . ☾ ° ¸. * ● ¸ ° ☾ °☆ . * ¸. ★  
★ ° . . . ☾ °☆ . * ● ¸ . ★ ° :. . • ○ ° ★ . * . . ° . ● . ° ☾ °☆ ¸. ● . ★ ★ ° ☾ ☆ ¸. ¸ ★ :. . • ○ ° ★ . * . . ¸ . ° ¸. * ● ¸ . ° ☾ ° ¸. ● ¸ . ★ ° :. . • °

 

Poe can’t hear anything except white noise. He watches the B-Wing burn and fall, sees the smoke pillowing out of the engines - knows that whoever is in there won’t survive. They’re coming down to fast, too steep; even if they haven’t choked from the smoke, or burned from the fire that has engulfed the entire ship, they’ll blow up instantly from the ground impact. The ringing in his ears follows him as he moves with everyone else to rush to the wreckage.

The next bits of memory come in flashes. _Flick –_ The sound of wailing. _Flick_ – the rubble coloured pitch black. _Flick_ – the sky a blood red, he swears he can see blood, he swears it. _Flick_ – his father, strong and capable and full-bodied, collapsed just meters from the crash, crying and screaming a name. _Flick_ – Shara. _Flick_ – Shara, Shara, Shara, Shara, Shara.

 _Flick_ – he barely registers the scream that rips from his throat.

 

Ren leaves that one alone. After all, what’s there to ruin?

 

★ ° . . . ☾ °☆ . * ● ¸ . ★ . • ○ ° ★ . * . . ° . ● . ° ☾ °☆ ¸. ● . ★ ★ ° ☾ ☆ ¸. ¸ ★ :. . • ○ ° ★ . * . . ¸ . ° ¸. * ● ¸ . ° ☾ ° ¸. ● ¸ . ★ ° :. . • ° . * :. . ¸ . ● ¸ ★ ★☾ °★ . . °☆ . ● ¸ . ★ ° . • ○ ° ★ . * . ☾ ° ¸. * ● ¸ ° ☾ °☆ . * ¸. ★  
★ ° . . . ☾ °☆ . * ● ¸ . ★ ° :. . • ○ ° ★ . * . . ° . ● . ° ☾ °☆ ¸. ● . ★ ★ ° ☾ ☆ ¸. ¸ ★ :. . • ○ ° ★ . * . . ¸ . ° ¸. * ● ¸ . ° ☾ ° ¸. ● ¸ . ★ ° :. . • °

 

He’s nineteen, almost twenty. Is preparing to shoot off Yavin IV, and join the New Republic’s Fleet. Rucksack shoved under his seat, family photograph and identification in his pocket, and rebuilt B-Wing at his side, he gives his father his signature grin, and moves to hug him, kissing the side of his head.

“Take care of yourself, okay dad? I’ll be back in no time, and with plenty of stuff to tell you.”

Kes smiles at his son, all grown up and _just like his mother_ , full of adventure and hope and a lust for thrills. And while he wearily eyes the B-Wing that too closely resembles Shara’s old thing, he loses some of the tension in his shoulders that he’s been carrying for years. His son won’t be held back from exploring the galaxy that is open to him, isn’t too scarred to follow in his mother’s footsteps, will appreciate the universe like she did and how he used to.

Poe lifts the B-Wing off the ground, and throws a wave at his father. Kes smiles again, nods, and steps back to allow Poe to shudder away from the planet. Light in his eyes – both of their eyes, the feeling of warmth again tingles in Poe’s fingers, grinning – always grinning – because he knows that there is _so much more_ to be seen and had.

 

The memory shifts. His father is collapsed on the ground, screaming his name, a combination of fear and tears in his eyes. The B-Wing, _Poe’s B-Wing_ , is on fire – smoke pouring in from the outside and filling up his lungs. He can’t breathe, _oh god_ , he can’t fucking breathe. His window cracks, and hears whistling, as the ground is rushing to greet him. He looks like a comet shooting across the sky and he laughs, as absurd as it is he laughs because his mother loved comet showers and _look at me now, Mom, I’m going to die beautifully_ and it becomes too much and he can see red – blood blood blood blood blood blood – and hears voices chant his mother’s name – _Shara, Shara, Shara, Shara, Shara, Shara_.

Ren slams him with unspeakable pain and Poe doesn’t know what hurts more, the memories being torn and shredded or the feeling as if his kidneys are being burned from the inside and pulled out by his throat – but he whimpers and begs and pleads and

“Where is the DROID? TELL ME WHERE IT IS, ** _NOW_** ” and oh god he’s so sorry, he so, so sorry but it’s unbearable and –

 

★ ° . . . ☾ °☆ . * ● ¸ . ★ . • ○ ° ★ . * . . ° . ● . ° ☾ °☆ ¸. ● . ★ ★ ° ☾ ☆ ¸. ¸ ★ :. . • ○ ° ★ . * . . ¸ . ° ¸. * ● ¸ . ° ☾ ° ¸. ● ¸ . ★ ° :. . • ° . * :. . ¸ . ● ¸ ★ ★☾ °★ . . °☆ . ● ¸ . ★ ° . • ○ ° ★ . * . ☾ ° ¸. * ● ¸ ° ☾ °☆ . * ¸. ★  
★ ° . . . ☾ °☆ . * ● ¸ . ★ ° :. . • ○ ° ★ . * . . ° . ● . ° ☾ °☆ ¸. ● . ★ ★ ° ☾ ☆ ¸. ¸ ★ :. . • ○ ° ★ . * . . ¸ . ° ¸. * ● ¸ . ° ☾ ° ¸. ● ¸ . ★ ° :. . • °

 

Thirty-six years old, and he’s in the tent of a wise man on Jakku. Intelligence had tipped the Resistance that Tekka had part of the map, and invaluable source that the General had told Poe he must obtain _at all costs_. They didn’t know how long it would take before the First Order caught hold of such intel themselves.

“Legend says this map is unobtainable,” Poe says. “How’d you do it?”

Tekka doesn’t tell him anything, just smiles, and Poe grins back. Fair enough.

Then, the First Order attacks. Tekka tells him to leave, that he must protect the villagers, and that Poe must turn the map to the Resistance. It is vital, it’ll begin to makes things right.

 _At all costs_.

Poe gets to his X-Wing, is shot at, assess the damage, grabs his blaster, gives BB-8 the disk, runs behind the rubble, shoots at the First Order, Ren – Ren comes and kills the man and Poe attacks – of _course_ he attacks, he couldn’t manage to stay down, but then again how much good would that do him, they’d find him eventually – and is captured, dragged onto the ship and looks back to see the villagers being killed – being massacred – and he screams at them, screams at them to stop, they’re just innocents in a war that seems to take more lives than it replaces and –

 

“So the droid has it? And it’s still on Jakku.”

He begins to think that maybe staying behind to be shot with the villagers was a better option.

 

★ ° . . . ☾ °☆ . * ● ¸ . ★ . • ○ ° ★ . * . . ° . ● . ° ☾ °☆ ¸. ● . ★ ★ ° ☾ ☆ ¸. ¸ ★ :. . • ○ ° ★ . * . . ¸ . ° ¸. * ● ¸ . ° ☾ ° ¸. ● ¸ . ★ ° :. . • ° . * :. . ¸ . ● ¸ ★ ★☾ °★ . . °☆ . ● ¸ . ★ ° . • ○ ° ★ . * . ☾ ° ¸. * ● ¸ ° ☾ °☆ . * ¸. ★  
★ ° . . . ☾ °☆ . * ● ¸ . ★ ° :. . • ○ ° ★ . * . . ° . ● . ° ☾ °☆ ¸. ● . ★ ★ ° ☾ ☆ ¸. ¸ ★ :. . • ○ ° ★ . * . . ¸ . ° ¸. * ● ¸ . ° ☾ ° ¸. ● ¸ . ★ ° :. . • °

 

Poe is thirty-six, and Ren leaves the interrogation room. Disgust and shame pools deep in his gut, it’s all his fault. He feels broken and violated, but most of all he feels _ashamed_ , because honestly, he could have copped more, should have copped more before they broke him.

They should never have been able to break him.

His eyes slide closed, and whimpers as shattered and torn and _wrong_ memories flood his senses – manipulated and twisted until he’s not sure what is truth and what Ren planted. Haplessness begins to sit in his stomach, and he finally feels like there isn’t an end to this war. Hates himself for it.

 

Later, a Stormtrooper will usher him out, remove his helmet – and fuck, is he gorgeous – and tell Poe that he’s rescuing him because “ _It’s the right thing to do_ ”, and a new wave of hope and energy wakes Poe up -- there’s always hope and he’s not gonna let Kylo fucking Ren win this one and –

_“You need a pilot.”_

_“I need a pilot.”_

**Author's Note:**

> Kudos and comments are welcomed and loved -- so please! Drop one by! It lets me know that I should continue writing.


End file.
